Mockingbirds & Butterflies
by C. R. Scott
Summary: Seven years have passed since Tim Drake retired and left the world of bats and crime-fighting far behind. Now, things are finally at a point where he feels comfortable in his own skin again. However, one day is all it takes to turn things upside-down.
1. Chapter 1

**ATTENTION****: Before reading this story, please read the short story, "Innocence Lost." ( www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / s / 7690068 / 1 / Innocence_Lost ) The tale below takes place seven years afterwards.**

* * *

><p>Normally, Tim Drake was early for school. Being punctual meant having a half-hour of peace and quiet to drink his coffee and read his newspaper before the first bell rang. However, the traffic in New York City had other plans that morning.<p>

Lots of plans.

Two miles of construction and a four-car pileup on highway 495 later, Tim was finally heading up the stairs to Kane High School, nearly fifteen minutes late. He breezed past the office so fast, the secretary at the front desk barely had time to catch his attention.

"Ah! Tim! There you are! Hold up a min!"

He slowed a little and turned just enough to look back, though he never stopped walking entirely. "Sorry Grace. Can't stop to chat—"

She snagged a folder off her desk. "You have a new student in homeroom today."

That made him stop completely. As she hurried over to Tim, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor of the empty hallway he took a moment to adjust his eye glasses. She handed him the folder. "Great," he murmured with a sigh. "Late on a day a new student arrives. THAT will leave a nice first impression on the kid."

Grace gave him a sympathetic look. "Ms. Simone took him down to your room a few minutes ago."

"Damn it," Tim groused. It was a well known fact at the school that the principal was not fond of late instructors. A massive increase of paperwork always came their way soon afterwards. He tucked the folder under his arm and gave a wave to Grace. "Thanks for the heads up. Now I REALLY have to get to class. Catch you later."

It took less than three minutes to make his way up the stairs to his classroom situated on the second floor of the school. Tim got to the door just as the silver-haired, sixty-two year old, four-foot-eight principal came walking out.

"There you are, Mr. Drake! Where have you been?"

Tim froze. Despite the woman's tiny stature, she gave off an authoritative aura that reminded him too much of Alfred and at least three professors he had over in Cambridge. "There was a massive pile-up on the 495," he said apologetically. "It was still being cleared up when I finally got through past it."

She glared daggers at him over the rim of her wireframe bifocals. "For your sake, you'd better hope there's reports of this 'accident' online, otherwise you'll be spending the next month taking over after-school detention duty. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Now. About your new student…"

Tim nodded as he edged towards the door. "I know. Grace told me all about him."

Ms. Simone gave him a curious look. "_Everything_ about him?"

"Well, she gave me his folder. I'll take a look at it as soon as I can." Blindly, Tim felt behind him with his free hand for the doorknob.

The corner of the old woman's lip twitched before reassembling itself into perfect composure. "You know what, Timothy? I've changed my mind. I think I'll take you on your word about the accident that delayed your arrival."

Tim stiffened. "You will?" In the back of his mind, confusion reigned. Simone never let late instructors off the hook that easy, and she NEVER called her employees by their first names unless she certain she was going to bring the hammer down on them. Then she did something that set off a whole slew of warning bells.

Ms. Simone smiled.

"Of course, Timothy," she said. "You've always been a model teacher here. Extremely punctual. Since this is your first offense of this sort since you've been here, I don't see any reason for not being lenient with you." She made a shooing motion at him with her hand towards his classroom. "Besides, you have a new student waiting for you. Best not to keep him waiting any longer than he already has."

Slowly, Tim turned the doorknob. "Ah… Thank you, Ms. Simone. I appreciate it?"

The smile remained. "You'd better, Mr. Drake. I'll see you in a few hours." Then she turned on the balls of her feet and calmly made her way down the hallway.

Once she was out of sight, Tim paused to recompose himself, feeling for all the world like he'd just dodged a bullet. It sure wasn't like avoiding an actual bullet like back when he was a kid, but this encounter with the woman affectionately referred to as "The Warden" behind her back by the student body set him on edge. A moment later, the feeling passed and he was able to enter his classroom as if nothing had happened.

"Morning class," he said as he set his briefcase down, though retained the folder. The idle chatter that had been going on in the classroom full of juniors and seniors quieted. "Sorry I'm late, and we'll get to work in just a minute. However, it's come to my attention that we have a new student." Tim finally opened the folder and glanced over its contents. "His name is…"

Tim paused. He looked over the top of his glasses at the name on the file. _"No. It can't be," _he thought to himself.

The pause lasted only a moment, not long enough for his students to realize that anything was wrong. He adjusted his glasses and turned his blue eyes to scan the teenagers in front of him. "…Alvin Draper?"

A hand raised from near the rear of the class. Connected to that hand was a smirking disguised Damian Wayne.

* * *

><p>It was a blessing that <em>Alvin<em> chose to sit in the rear of the class. It made ignoring him for the time they were trapped together easier for Tim. After initial _introductions_ were made, it was a simple matter of focusing on the coursework.

Numbers made sense.

Equations, postulates, and theorems made sense (no matter how much his students would argue against that sentiment).

The fact that Damian Wayne was there in disguise using one of Tim's old aliases DID NOT make sense.

So until the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Tim pointedly ignored his estranged younger brother.

"Mr. Draper. May I have a word with you?" Tim asked as his students were in the process of gathering their things to head off to their next class.

"I don't really have the time, _Mister_ Drake," the currently auburn haired teenager said with a negligent shrug. "I shouldn't be _late_ for my next class."

Tim paused to look over one of the papers he'd gathered from a student's desk. "This won't take long."

The teenage boy shrugged and lounged at his desk as the last of the students filed out of the room. Soon as the last one was out, Tim went over, closed the door, and locked it. Only then did he finally face his younger brother.

"What's going on, Damian?"

Damian raised an eyebrow at him.

Tim narrowed his gaze. "Let me rephrase that," he said calmly. "Why the hell are you using one of my old aliases to insinuate yourself into my school?" A trace of irritation couldn't help but tinge his words, but he kept his tone low. The last thing he wanted was to create a scene at work with a student he wasn't supposed to be related to.

The younger man sighed and regarded his older brother with a milder version of the disdain Tim remembered. At least it seemed milder. This was the first time he'd been face to face with his younger brother for the better part of seven years. The boy had grown up a lot in that time. Though Damian didn't have his father's sheer bulk, he was clearly approaching him in height. "This wasn't my idea, Drake," he said.

"Then who's? Dick? Alfred?"

"Father."

At this revelation, Tim's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Bruce sent you here?" Then he frowned. "Why?"

"To check up on you and your place of employment," he said with a shrug. "Make sure things are safe here."

"Safe?" Tim said incredulously. "Safe? Are you kidding me? What the hell could be going here that's got his attention? I've been working here two years, and the most threatening thing this school has going for it is that tiny little principal, and that's only if your unfortunate enough to get on her radar."

Damian shrugged. "You'll have to ask him about that yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"Father sent me a message for you. He wants you to come home for a visit. There's something he wants to talk to you about."

Tim's jaw tightened. "No."

"What?"

"You heard what I said," Tim snapped. "If he wants to talk face to face, he knows where I live. And if he doesn't know the way, Alfred and Dick do. But I am not setting one foot back in Gotham."

Damian rose to his feet. "Father is very busy—"

"And I'm not?" Tim interrupted. He forced himself to pause, took a deep breath, and released it slowly before continuing. "If what he has to say is important, he will make the time to come to New York. If he makes the time for me, I'll make the time for him."

The young man tilted his head to one side. "And if he doesn't come?"

Tim shrugged. "Then it must not be that important." He unlocked the door and opened it to Damian. "You'd better head to class. You don't want to be late."

Damian gave Tim a look before gathering his bag and hoisting it over one shoulder. For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something more to him. Make a statement. Ask him a question. At the last moment, though, he seemed to think better of it and chose to simply leave his brother's classroom without saying a word.

Shutting the door once more after Damian was out of sight, Tim was immensely glad that this was his conference period. He'd need the next hour to recompose himself enough to face third period.

* * *

><p>It was six o'clock, and Tim was in the kitchen of the four-story brownstone he called home, in a quiet neighborhood just a few blocks away from Central Park. Half a glass of red wine rested in his hand as he overlooked four place settings at the table in his dining room. He wasn't certain a meal would be shared that night, but if Alfred taught him anything, it was to be prepared if guests were expected. Food was being kept warm in the oven, and though Grandfather would scold him for opening the wine early, Tim felt that under the circumstances he would understand.<p>

The doorbell chimed elegantly. Tim was mildly surprised. He was halfway expecting visitors through the window, not the front door. Still, the fact that he was being polite about the visit didn't make the impending visit any less ominous. He drained the last of the wine from his glass in one long drought and set it down before heading for the door.

Behind the open door, much to Tim's relief, the first person he came in contact with was Alfred.

"Good evening, Timothy," the kindly old man said with a smile.

With a smile of his own and without any hesitation, Tim moved to give his grandfather a welcoming hug. "It's so good to see you, Grandfather," he said warmly. Then, he looked over Alfred's shoulder and caught sight of two other figures walking up the steps. One was clearly the teenager he'd seen far too much of earlier in the day. The other was a man he hadn't seen face to face for the better part of seven years. He calmly pulled away from Alfred to look at him with stoic regard.

"Hello Bruce."

Dinner happened pleasantly enough. The food was good and the conversation safe. Mostly talk consisted of Tim and Alfred catching up since their last visit about two months prior. Bruce didn't say much, and Damian said nothing at all. If Tim noticed, he didn't make any outward sign of it. He didn't mind keeping the peace for as long as possible.

Tim knew that it couldn't last.

When the meal was over, and Alfred insisted on helping Tim with the dishes, that left Bruce and Damian free to their own devices for a few minutes.

"Go ahead and take a look around if you want," Tim said as he followed Alfred into the kitchen with a stack of dishes. "All I ask is that you stay on this floor please."

Aside from the dining room and kitchen, the second floor of the brownstone also contained a spacious living room as well as a study that served as Tim's home office. While Damian relegated himself to the sofa on the living room, his homework actually in hand, Bruce migrated to the study.

He stood there in the middle of the room, taking in all that he saw and processing the area as methodically as a crime scene. While it felt a little strange at first, everything he saw made Bruce realize exactly how much his estranged son had changed over the last several years and how little he really knew about him.

On the walls were his framed degrees and honors from the University of Cambridge in England, including the doctorate he'd received in mathematics. With Tim's hard work and obsessive dedication, he'd completed the work necessary to get it in just five years. Next to the degrees were photos from his graduation. Alfred was there, of course, standing next to him in his cap and gown, as well as Dick, Stephanie, Cass (Cain), and Tam.

However, to Bruce's trained eye, there were distinct absences among the variety of candid shots not just on the wall, but scattered around the office. Aside from only the closest of his family, there were no photographs of anyone he knew from the Justice League or Titans before he left for England.

There were also no photographs of Bruce.

While walking by Tim's desk, Bruce's pant leg caught on a number of unfolded letters and unopened envelopes that had been crowded on a small corner that hadn't been consumed by lesson plans, graded papers, and textbooks on calculus, trig, and geometry. The papers tumbled to the floor. Reflexively, Bruce knelt down to pick them up, though he paused as he got a look at the addresses and letterheads.

MIT… NASA… Star Labs… FBI… CIA… Interpol… LexCorp… even WayneTech… It was a collection of invitations and requests from assortment of research groups, think tanks, and various national security agencies from the United States and Europe. Bruce had always known Tim was brilliant and had done well enough in university to garner some attention for his skills in higher level mathematics and computer sciences, skills that could be used wide range of fields. However, he hadn't realized how many high profile organizations were attempting to court him.

And yet, Tim was content to be a simple high school math teacher.

"When did he start calling you _Grandfather_?" Bruce asked Alfred as he set the letters back on Tim's desk. The old man had slipped into the office and had been watching Bruce for about a minute, though he held no illusion that he'd managed to sneak up on the trained vigilante.

"When I first visited him in Cambridge," Alfred said. "He introduced me to several of his associates and professors as his grandfather, and it seemed to stick." Clearly, Alfred didn't mind this association in the least. He'd always thought of Tim like a grandson, regardless.

"And the glasses? Are they part of a disguise or…"

Alfred shook his head. "Timothy started developing myopia while at university. Too much studying in poorly lit coffee shops and pubs." Then his face sobered. "Are you ready to speak to him?"

Bruce sighed. "He won't take this well."

"Most likely not," Alfred agreed. "But remember who this needs to be done for."

The two older men stepped back into the living room to find an unusual sight. Tim was hovering over Damian, leaning over the back of the sofa while helping him with his homework.

"Good grief! Did you pay any attention at all to the lesson today?"

"Tt," Damian muttered sullenly as he erased a large patch from the notebook he was working on.

Tim shook his head, took Damian's pencil, and made a few notes on the equation he was struggling with. "My classes aren't just ordinary high school or AP math classes, you know. They're dual-credit, full blown semesters of college-level Calculus, and you're starting off two weeks behind everyone else in the class."

"I can handle it." The teenager looked over what Tim had written, wide-eyed comprehension slowly dawning, though his scowl returned with a vengeance when he remembered suddenly that his brother had had to correct his work. He snatched his pencil back and figured out the rest of the equation furiously.

"When?" Tim frowned. "I know what kind of hours you keep at night. My class is first period. When do you plan to study or do your homework? What about the rest of your classes for that matter? Your schedule is completely loaded with dual-credit and AP courses."

"Like it matters? I'm not even using my real identity. It won't be on my official transcripts."

Tim rolled his eyes skyward behind his glasses. "Oh please. Ms. Simone had you made the moment you walked into the school. If you fail my class, or any other, it WILL end up on Damian Wayne's permanent school record one way or another."

The tip of Damian's pencil broke. He turned to glare at Tim in surprise. "What?"

Tim smirked a little. "The. Principal. Knows. Who. You. Are." he said with slow, careful enunciation. "That's why she let me off easy for being late. She figured dealing with you all semester would be more punishment than she'd be able to dole out herself."

"How'd she figure out who I was?" the teenager demanded in a flabbergasted tone.

"She knows who I am and who my family consists of," Tim explained with a shrug. "She must know what to look for."

Damian looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for further, more detailed explanations. However, when Tim didn't elaborate, he frowned and went back into his homework, muttering under his breath in Arabic.

Alfred cleared his throat a little, drawing the attention of both Tim and Damian.

Tim's expression became guarded as he shifted his gaze from his grandfather to his estranged father. Damian took that as his signal to vacate the living room for the study, leaving the three older men together to talk. Unlike his brother, he knew exactly why their father wanted to speak to him, and as much as he enjoyed seeing Drake discomforted, in this particular situation he did not want to be in the same room as them when the shit hit the fan.

* * *

><p>"Have you heard any news from either the Justice League or Titans?"<p>

"Why would I?" Tim frowned deeply at his father as he sat across from him in the sofa opposite Bruce. "You know better than anyone that I don't have anything to do with either of them. They're not a part of my life anymore."

"There's been trouble in Themyscira."

Tim felt a tightening in his chest. "What's happened?"

Bruce gave him a serious look. "Ares has taken an interest in Donna and… her daughter."

The younger man felt the blood drain from his face. "What's going on?" Tim managed to choke out.

"For reasons no one's certain of right now, Ares is trying to take possession Donna's daughter. The situation has gotten serious enough that the Titans and Justice League have stepped in to help extract the two of them and move them to various safe homes."

Tim closed his eyes as he thought of the last time he saw Donna and _her daughter_. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Alright… Everything's going to be alright then. The two of them will be under either the Titan or League protection. They'll be fine." Then his mind ran back over Bruce's words and his features became puzzled. "Wait. You said _homes_… as in plural?"

"Tim," Bruce interjected solemnly. "There's a mole among either the Titans or the League. Someone keeps giving away Donna's location and Ares has nearly gotten the child several times. I've stepped in to place the two of them with someone I know they will be safe with."

For a long moment, a heavy silence settled on the room as Tim stared at Bruce in confusion. Then understanding dawned on his expression, followed close afterward by a tangled mix of alarm and anger. "No," he said, his voice barely rising above a whisper. When he repeated the sentiment, though, his words were clearly a fair bit louder than that as he rose to his feet. "No! You cannot be serious! Bruce, what the hell are you thinking?"

"Timothy," Alfred said placating. "Please calm down…"

"No! No, I won't calm down!" Tim growled. Then he pointed at Bruce. "This is bullshit! I'm not a Titan! I'm not Justice League! I'm not a Robin! I'm not a Bat! You cannot order me to do this! I REFUSE!"

Tim suddenly felt as if he were suffocating. It was as if there was suddenly not enough air in the spacious living room, which was now starting to spin. His balance must have been visibly compromised because Bruce reached out to try and steady him. Reflexively, Tim lashed out, backhanding the suddenly offensive limb away. "Don't touch me!" he hissed through clenched teeth as slowly, carefully, he backed himself up until the reached the sofa he'd risen from and settled back down into it. Once he was seated, Tim removed his glasses, rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward with his head bowed and eyes closed. He knew he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack, and he needed to calm himself down before he got any worse. He tensed briefly when he felt a warm hand settle on his back, but relaxed as he realized it was Alfred, not Bruce, attempting to help him.

It took about ten minutes for the panic attack to subside to manageable levels. Tim slowly sipped from the cup of tea that Damian (surprisingly) had made for him while Alfred was calming him down. Bruce, thankfully, kept his distance, watching quietly from his new vantage point on the far side of the living room next to the windows. Though he wished to be closer, to be right by his estranged son's side, he knew that approaching him at that moment would do more harm than good.

"Why me, Bruce?" Tim finally asked in a hoarse voice, eyes focused downward into the remaining liquid in his mug. "Is there really no one else you can trust them with?"

Bruce sighed. "I wouldn't put you through this if it wasn't a last resort, son," he said somberly. "But we don't know who the mole is, except that he or she has to be among the new recruits both groups have gotten in the last few years."

Tim stared deep into his mug. "Recruits who don't know who I am." A sardonic smile played bitterly on his lips. "Have I really been forgotten by the Titans and the League?"

"Don't be stupid," Damian chimed in curtly, drawing a glare from both his father and Alfred, though Tim just looked up at him blankly. The teenager was leaning against the frame of the door to the study, arms crossed over his chest, attempting to look bored and irritated, though failing as his concern (and perhaps a trace of jealousy?) bled through his facade.

"Your friends respect you too much to forget you. However, when you made it clear you wanted to return to civilian life, they went to great pains to erase all traces of your real identity from every database they possess. Every mention of the third Robin and Red Robin has been otherwise buried so deep it would take a hacker of Oracle's skill to find the files. They don't mention you in public. They don't visit you because many of them are too high profile now to have secret identities. They stay away to protect you."

Tim nodded and turned his head away, his eyes closing as his gaze turned inward. He heard the sound of someone moving to kneel in front of him and felt a pair of careworn warm hands fall over his own.

"This is something none of us wants to ask of you," Alfred said gently. And you do have the right to refuse. We will make other arrangements if we need to. However, we all believe that the two of them would be safest in your care. You have the skills and training to protect them… To hide them. And no one aside from the people in this room and Richard are going to known where they are."

Tim wished that he could deny their logic. He really, really wished he could. He wished he could just refuse, like his grandfather had offered. "I don't want to do this, Bruce" Tim said in a deflated, defeated voice. "I don't want to see _her_. I can't… I don't know… But…"

"I'm sorry, but they need your help. You're the only one we can trust with this."

Tim sighed. It was the closest thing Bruce would get to him accepting the situation aloud. "When?"

"Dick is heading to where they're at now. They should arrive in New York by week's end."

* * *

><p>It was 3am in New Orleans.<p>

While the greater part of the Crescent City slept, a deadly hunt was taking place in the side streets and alleyways of the shadier reaches of the French Quarter.

"Where is she, Mockingbird?" a woman with with short red hair and an Australian accent demanded into an earpiece as she reached a four-way intersection. "I've lost visual of the target."

A small robotic bird zoomed over her head, gaining altitude quickly before coming to a stop and hovering over the area. Small cameras in its eyes scanned the area thoroughly.

"TAKE A RIGHT, SHIMMER, AND KEEP MOVING FORWARD," a heavily synthesized voice ordered into her ear. "WOLF… GO NORTH AT THE NEXT INTERSECTION….MAMMOTH… GO SOUTH… YOU'LL FORCE HER STRAIGHT INTO A DEAD END."

Obediently, three menacing individuals closed in on their target. At the dead end, a brown haired Brazilian woman whirled around on her pursuers. Her eyes widened as she zeroed in on the mechanically armed gunman.

"So you would betray me too, Wolf?"

"Nothing personal, Wanderer," the silver haired hunter growled as he aimed his six guns at her. "It's just business." His face darkened. "Isn't that what you said when you last tried to kill me?"

Wanderer's eyes darted from one person to the other, finally settling on Shimmer as she dashed for freedom. She reached out to try catch the red-haired woman with her bare hands as she dodged Wolf's bullets.

"HER TOUCH IS POISONOUS! WATCH THE SKIN!"

"I haven't forgotten, mate!" Shimmer said the metahuman transmuted her skin into a silvery metallic substance. Wanderer's touch did absolutely nothing, and the Aussie smiled at her viciously before connecting her fist against the other's jaw.

Struggling for a moment to regain her composure, Wanderer propped herself up on her elbows and stared up at her pursuers, anger warring with fear as she slowly began to realize how hopeless her situation had become. "You're the ones, aren't you?" she demanded to know. "The ones who've been taking down assassination guilds?"

Shimmer smirked as she looked to her brother. "Oy, Mammoth. Looks like our reputation is preceding us." The behemoth of a man chuckled darkly. Three more figures, two women and another man, stepped out of the shadows of the nearby street. The robotic bird flew down and settled on a nearby lamp post, its eyes focused squarely on Wanderer.

"REPORT. THE REST OF THE SPIDERS?"

"They've been taken care of," the man known as Deadshot said simply. Cheshire, at his left, holstered her sais. At the sharpshooter's right, Black Alice regarded Wanderer coldly.

"How should we deal with their leader?" she asked into her own headset. "What do we do with her, Mockingbird?"

There was no hesitation. "END HER."

One bullet from one of Wolf's gun was all it took to wipe the last of the Council of Spiders from the face of the Earth.

Nearly two thousand miles away, in a secret command center tucked away deep beneath his brownstone home, Tim Drake closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned back in his chair as the sound of the gunshot echoed in his headset. Then he leaned forward to type some commands on his computer console.

"Good work, Six," he said through the mic that would digitally modify his voice.

Through the eyes of his robotic bird, he watched as the six members of his covert mercenary team began their usual process of scattering to the winds before making their way back north to their base of operations in a mansion tucked away in the forests of rural Vermont.

"So what's next for us now that the Spiders are done, Mockingbird?" Cheshire asked as she got on her hidden motorcycle. The question was posed on an open channel, so the five other members of the Six could listen in as well.

Tim finished typing, then set his elbows on his console and teepeed his fingers together in front of him. "What's next?" he echoed. "What's next is holiday."

"Holiday?" Deadshot queried, confusion clear in his tone.

"Yes," Tim clarified. "As in vacation, for at least a month, along with a bonus to each of your paychecks for this job. Your accounts are already updated if you'd like to check it out."

There was a moment of silence as Tim was certain they were using their smartphones to check their private bank accounts.

"Woah," Shimmer was the first to gasp. "That is a lot of zeroes. Where…?"

"Remnants of the Spiders' off-shore accounts," Tim said. "Don't spend it all in one place."

"Heh," Cheshire chuckled. "I don't know about you guys, but I really like this 'Mockingbird' way better than the other ones I've had to deal with in the past, don't you?"

"The pay is definitely better," Deadshot agreed. There were murmurs of agreement from Black Alice as well.

Tim noticed that Shimmer was motioning to the robot bird from her seat in the pick up truck she was sharing with her brother. He couldn't help a small smile. It amused him that the woman enjoyed treating the machine like a real one. He commanded the bird to land on her hand.

"Y'know, M," she spoke to the bird. "Giving us big bonuses and nice vacations. It almost sounds as if you're buttering us up for one hell of a next mission."

"I won't lie to you," Tim said seriously. "The next target will make the Scarabs, Spiders, and everyone in between seem like child's play. So enjoy your vacations. Rest up, play hard, don't get arrested, and we'll see you at the House of Secrets in thirty days." He sent the command for the robot bird to fly from Shimmer's hand, turn on its cloaking device, and return to home. "Mockingbird out."

Tim cut the comm links, removed his headset, and pushed himself away from the console, leaning back in his chair and looking around himself, as if expecting someone… anyone… to come out of the shadows with a disapproving expression. When no one did, he ran through all the security feeds from in and around his home. There was no one there. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief.

They didn't know.

His secret was still safe.

He opened up a chat window and sent out an invite.

—

$$$PIDER: I take it the mission went well tonight?

FAKING_FEATHERS: The Council of Spiders has been eliminated.

$$$PIDER: Congrats. It took a year, but they're finally off the playing field.

FAKING_FEATHERS: Couldn't have done it without your help, Lonnie.

$$$PIDER: What's next?

FAKING_FEATHERS: A month off, then the hunt starts for the League of Assassins.

$$$PIDER: You think the Six are ready for them?

FAKING_FEATHERS: I think so.

$$$PIDER: So why a month off?

FAKING_FEATHERS: Bats forced me into a situation, and now I'm on their radar. Need to mothball operations till this blows over.

$$$PIDER: Gotcha. What do you need of me?

FAKING_FEATHERS: Monitor all chatter on the League. Gather intel. Let me know if any of their members come within 250 miles of NYC. If anyone gets within that radius, I need to know immediately.

$$$PIDER: Understood.

FAKING_FEATHERS: Also let me know if any of the Six get into hot water within the next 30 days. I told them to stay out of trouble, but still…

$$$PIDER: No problem.

FAKING_FEATHERS: If anything else comes up, you know how to reach me. Catch you later, Lonnie.

$$$PIDER: Good luck, Tim.

—

Tim emerged from the secret stairwell that had been tucked behind the bookcase in his study. It closed with barely a whisper behind him as he made a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, he poured himself a glass of wine, the last of the bottle he'd opened earlier. As he tried to relax on the sofa and nursed the glass in his hand, Tim lost himself in thought.

It had taken years to disconnect himself nearly completely from his former life and build a solid civilian persona for himself that no one would question.

It had taken years to secretly organize his own incarnation of the Secret Six, usurping the moniker of "Mockingbird" for himself. In the last two years, they'd managed to eliminate a variety of murder-for-hire individuals and organizations. The largest names they'd removed from the board included the Scarabs and now the Council of Spiders.

He was so close to being able to work towards his ultimate goal…

A world without the League of Assassins.

_"Patience,"_ Tim thought to himself. _"Just a little delay. Then you can get back to work. Just… a short break."_

As Tim drank his wine, he focused his attention solely on the delay to his personal mission, purposely drowning out all thoughts of the reason why this delay was necessary in the first place.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> _

_And so closes the first chapter of another new fanfiction series I'm working on entitled **"Mockingbirds and Butterflies."** This is a storyline that sprang to mind after I finished the earlier flash fiction short story **"Innocence Lost".** This story takes place seven years after that story and will be exploring what happens when, due to unforseen circumstances, Tim is forced into a reunion with the daughter that had been born from his rape and given up to family friend Donna Troy to raise as her own._

_I am not sure how often I'll be updating this story. But it will be something I am actively working on, in addition to everything else I'm writing. _

_Please, feel free to leave comments and critiques. I love getting them all._

_~C._


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Donna. Wake up. We're almost there."

The dark haired woman in the passenger seat of the sedan slowly opened her blue eyes. It took a minute for them to focus as she struggled to clear the fog of sleep from her mind.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Quarter to midnight," Dick Grayson said as he slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection in what looked like a quiet residential neighborhood. Despite the long drive, he was wide awake, bright eyed and bushy tailed. It didn't surprise Donna. Her best friend was a Bat, after all. This hour of night might as well have been his lunch hour.

Donna hid her yawn behind the back of her hand, then rubbed the sand from her eyes. "Where are we?" She glanced over her shoulder into the back seat where a young girl slept peacefully. "Last I remember, we were driving across the New Jersey border. Are we in Gotham City now?"

The man in the driver's seat shook his head. "Nope. We're in the Big Apple."

She turned to look at him in confusion. "New York City? I don't understand. I thought you said that Bruce was going to take care of us. Send us somewhere safe?"

An odd look crossed Dick's face. "You both ARE going somewhere safe," he insisted. "There's a civilian who lives here that our family trusts. He can protect you both."

"He?" Donna couldn't help the suspicion creeping up in her voice. "And a civilian?"

"I know how you feel towards most men nowadays, Donna," Dick said. "And I know up to this point you two have been staying with women from the Titans and the Justice League. However, I swear you both can trust him. He's a good stable person and lives a pretty nice low key life out here. His home is big enough for all of you to be comfortable, and if things happen to take a turn for the worse again, he's got the experience and know-how to either face it head on, or slip away where no one can find you."

"Sounds like you know him personally," Donna said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Is he a good friend?"

"One of the best," Dick reassured her with a small smile, though mentally he tacked on _"Although we'll see how that holds up after tonight."_

Donna peered closely at Dick's face. "What's his name?" she asked with deliberate slowness.

"Ah… We'll do introductions when we get there. We're just a couple blocks down the road."

Donna frowned. "Is he someone I already know?"

Dick felt a small bead of cold sweat trickle down his back as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Well…"

"What are you hiding, Dick?" she demanded with a penetrating, steely eyed glare.

"Nothing," he lied.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Then why won't you tell me who this man is?"

Dick inclined his head towards a house to his left, pointedly avoiding Donna's gaze. "Oh look. We're here."

* * *

><p>Tim had gotten the call from Dick earlier in the day, right before first period. His brother just wanted to give him an ETA. Dick thought he was doing the right thing in letting Tim know how long it would be till he arrived in New York with Donna. Normally, it would've been obviously the right, polite thing to do.<p>

However, for Tim, Dick might as well have set a ticking time bomb.

The hours seemed to slow to a painful crawl. His focus was not what it usually was, and nearly all his students noticed. Though most of them certainly didn't mind the fact that Mr. Drake forgot all about the end-of-week exam they were supposed to have had, the majority of those who liked him as a teacher were vocal about their worry out in the hallway in hushed whispers once they exited his class. Even Damian, still undercover, was tempted into staying behind during Tim's conference period to make sure he was going to be alright.

The temptation was immediately vaporized when Tim lashed out at him verbally at the first inference of implied concern. The two of them flung bitter, harsh words at one another like stones, and after fifteen straight minutes of arguing, the teenager was positively seething. In the end, Damian stormed furiously out of the classroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Only later would Damian realize that Tim had purposefully (and effectively) baited him into abandoning his _mission_ there at the school. That he'd taken the bait so easily left a sour taste in the young man's mouth for the rest of the day.

By the time he realized his error and tried to go back and confront his elder brother about it during his lunch break, it was already too late. A substitute had been summoned for the rest of Mr. Drake's classes, and he'd left campus for the rest of the day for "personal reasons".

* * *

><p>There was a man sitting in the dark on the steps of the brownstone that Dick and Donna were driving up to. At first, Donna couldn't tell at all who the man was. He was sitting slightly hunched over with his elbows on his knees, head bowed and a small glass half filled with some dark amber liquid in one hand. He held the glass by the lip with just his fingertips and swirled the liquid slowly and smoothly, with all the practiced ease of an accomplished drinker.<p>

When the car was finally parked, Dick sat there for a moment, looking at the man for a long time in silence. "Wait here a moment," he finally told Donna as he unbuckled his seat belt and exited the vehicle.

Donna watched curiously as her best friend went up to the stranger. She couldn't hear exactly what Dick was saying to him, but she could read the concern in his face. The man didn't say anything to Dick in response, but he did, reluctantly, turn his face to the car, and Donna gasped when she recognized who she was looking at.

"Tim?" she whispered mostly to herself, eyes wide with shock as her fingers flew to her lips.

At her visible reaction, Tim sighed as he cast his eyes downward again, a humorless half-smile on his face. He murmured something to Dick that, if she read his lips correctly, looked a lot like "How'd I let you people talk me into this?" Then he rose unsteadily to his feet and moved into the house, draining the last bit of liquid from his glass as he traveled, leaving his brother calling his name after him with a weary expression, though he made no physical move to stop Tim's retreat.

When the younger man vanished from view, Donna immediately got out of the car and made sure to close the door as quietly as possible, so she wouldn't wake her daughter. Then, with a grim expression, she stormed up to Dick and punched him in the upper arm just hard enough to hurt without leaving a bruise.

To his credit, Dick managed to stifle whatever yelp of pain wanted to escape his lips, though Donna could hear the sound of his molars grinding together as he kept his mouth tightly closed. It was late in the evening and they definitely didn't want the neighborhood watch bringing NYPD's finest to Tim's doorstep. "What the hell?" he hissed in a low tone as he massaged his sore bicep.

"Tim?" Donna glared daggers at him.

"Listen Donna—"

"TIM?"

Dick ran his palm over his face. "Please don't shoot the messenger," he pleaded. "This wasn't my idea."

"Oh, so this was Bruce's doing?"

When Dick nodded, Donna's eyes narrowed. Before the acrobatic vigilante even realized what was going on, the woman moved to his other side and gave him a harder punch on the previously untouched arm, one that would certainly leave a bruise.

"OW!"

"That's for Bruce," she muttered angrily.

"Then what was the first one for?"

"For not telling me about this until we got here! Great Hera, Dick! This is Tim's home!"

Dick gave Donna a crestfallen look. "I know. Believe me, Bruce and I nearly came to blows over this. Alfred and I both tried our damnedest to convince him to find another way."

"But…?"

"But in the end, logically, there really is no better place for the two of you." Dick sighed as he raked his hair with his fingers. "Taking all the emotional elements out of the situation, and the specific history concerning you two and your daughter, Tim really is the ideal person to watch over you both until Ares has been dealt with. He's a civilian who's been living a low profile life for years now. He's not even on the radar when it comes to Wayne gossip on the society blogs. However, he still has all the training from his years as Robin, his home is extremely secure, and if anything does happen, he can handle it or call on one of us for help."

"Are you sure about that? Handling it, I mean?"

"He's not being thrown into this without any support. Damian's undercover and enrolled at his school, in one of his classes he teaches, and Alfred will be coming down next week and staying here as well to help."

Donna shook her head. "You know what I mean, Dick."

Dick moved back to the car as he spoke, opening the trunk to extract suitcases out of it. "I do, and I meant what I said. Damian's tasked with keeping an eye on Tim when he's at work, and Alfred is going to be here for emotional support at home." Despite his statement meant to reassure Donna, there was a sense of concerned uncertainty lining Dick's expression and tone of voice.

Following Dick's lead, Donna went to the rear passenger door, quietly opened it up, and began gently undoing her daughter's seat belt. When the child stirred, she couldn't help but smile as she smoothed her dark hair reassuringly. "Go back to sleep, love," she cooed even as she gathered the seven-year old girl into her arms. "It's way your bedtime."

With a suitcase in each hand, Dick watched as the doting mother cradled her child close to her. While a seven-year old would've been an armful for a normal woman Donna's size to handle, for the Amazon princess and sister of Wonder Woman, the girl might as well have weighed as light as a feather. Seeing his best friend so happy warmed his heart, but made him feel a little sad too.

"C'mon. I'll show you in," he said as he motioned to the stairs. Once the three of them were inside, Dick noticed that Tim was nowhere to be seen. However, he heard a familiar sound coming from the dining room that made him frown. "This is the second floor," he told Donna, who was looking around the foyer curiously, her sleeping daughter resting in her arms. "The guest rooms are on the third floor. Yours are on the right side of the hallway. Tim's is on the fourth floor." He set the suitcases down on the floor by the stairs.

"You're not going to show us the way?"

Dick shook his head. "I would, but I really do need to check on Tim." He sighed. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't soda he was drinking just now."

A knowing look crossed Donna's face, and she nodded before ascending the stairs.

* * *

><p><em><em>The familiar sound that Dick had heard from the foyer was that of liquid being poured from a bottle into a glass. When he got to the dining room, he paused in the entryway and sighed. He'd been hoping he'd heard wrong.

No such luck.

"Please tell me that wasn't a brand new bottle when you started."

Tim stopped pouring and raised his eyes to Dick. Then he closed his eyes and shrugged. "Sure. Let's go with that," he said with an sardonic uplift to one corner of his lips. He set the tall bottle down. From his vantage point, Dick could see that a good third of the bottle had been emptied.

"Rum?" Dick took a seat opposite Tim at the table, casually taking the bottle and sliding it out of his brother's reach. "You hate rum."

Lifting his glass, Tim studied the dark liquid with what appeared to be an appreciative eye. "To-mor-row," he said very slowly, making sure to accentuate each syllable of the word. "I hate rum on tomorrows. Never todays. Definitely not tonight," he clarified with the barest pause in his words as his alcohol-addled mind was slow to find the right words. Then he brought the glass to his lips.

"Tim, was this really necessary?"

Dick's younger brother gave him a hard, deadpan stare over the top of the glass

"OK," Dick murmured, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Stupid question. Exactly how many days warning did Bruce give you?"

Tim rolled his eyes skyward as he searched for the answer. "I dunno… What's th'day… Today? Thursday? Friday?"

"Friday."

"Ah." Tim nodded. He set his half-empty glass down on the table and used two fingertips to slide it this way and that on the polished mahogany surface. He kept his gaze locked on the rum as it sloshed around in its small confines. "Wednesday," he finally said after thinking things over for far longer than normal. "Damian showed up… on Wednesday. Such a Monday thing… Should've been Monday… But t'was Wednesday… Bad Wednesday… Bad, bad Wednesday…"

As Tim rambled in semi-aimless circles in the way he always did when he'd had way too much to drink, Dick cursed Bruce. "I can't believe he only gave you three days. Less than that really. Son of a bitch!"

"It was probably for the best," Tim mumbled, stumbling briefly over the 'b's in the word 'probably'. "If I had more warning… I'd probably be in London right now." With one hand still on his glass, he pillowed his head on on his arms on the table. "Or Hong Kong… I don't wanna be here, Dick."

Dick's heart ached. This was a scene he thought they'd left behind years ago. This… This was why he and Alfred protested against Bruce's plan so strongly. He hated watching his younger brother unravel right before his eyes. There was only so much he could do to help when Tim was like this. Dick reached over to place a comforting hand on Tim's arm. "Do you need me to stay the night?" he asked.

Tim wanted to say no. Dick could tell that the negative word was right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to come out. However, one of the only benefits of Tim being completely smashed was the fact that he was a very honest drunk who had a hard, nearly impossible, time lying when he was this deep into his cups. "It's not… too much trouble?" he finally asked, grimacing at the words even as they left his mouth.

His older brother smiled reassuringly. "Not at all. Not for you." Dick got to his feet and moved around the table so that he could help Tim to his. "C'mon, let's get you bed." Subtly, he slipped the remaining glass of rum out of his brother's hand and set it out of reach, making a mental note to dump the rest of the hard liquor when he was sure Tim was fast asleep.

Rum never did Tim any favors.

As Dick led Tim out of the dining room and towards the stairs, they both ran into Donna, who was descending down the stairs herself. Tim, leaning heavily against his brother, gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, Donna," he said slowly. "Sorry I'm all sorts of useless right now."

Donna shook her head with an understanding expression. "It's alright, Tim. There's nothing you need to apologize for." She reached out to stroke his face to reassure him.

"Donna! Wait!"

Dick's words reached her too late. As her hand came within inches of touching Tim's cheek, the younger man's blue eyes went wide with alarm. "Don't touch me!" Abruptly, he jerked himself both away from Donna and his brother, stumbling backwards down several steps. If Dick hadn't grabbed him hard by the arm just then, he would've tumbled down the entire length of stairs.

"Goddess, are you alright?" Donna said with alarm, her hands drawn sharply back and held close to her chest. "Tim, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Just give us some space," Dick said patiently as he tried to wave her towards the lower end of the stairs, away from his brother who looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating. He glanced at her briefly, his face weary. "I'll explain later. Just, wait for me downstairs."

Silently, Donna nodded and slowly descended the rest of the stairs, even as she watched Dick help Tim back up to his feet. When the two of them disappeared around the bend in the stairwell that led to the fourth floor, she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

What the hell had Bruce gotten them all into?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>_

_With Chapter 2 enters the characters of Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, and the seven-year old girl who shall become a huge part of the continuing story. We also learn with this chapter that Tim has more issues than just the secret night job he's hiding from his family. He may give off the illusion of a stable, put together professor when he's teaching at school, and a similar image when he's dictating orders to the Six, but that's all they are._

_Illusions._

_In this story, Tim is around twenty-five years old. This places Dick and Donna both in their early thirties, probably around thirty-two and thirty-three. In my head canon, Dick has always been around seven or eight years older than Tim, and Dick and Donna are around the same age._

_In the next chapter, we shall finally get a true introduction to the little girl at center of all the plot lines in this story._


	3. Chapter 3

_His wrists were shackled, the unforgiving metal biting deeply into his skin._

_An oily, noxious black vapor, thick with the aroma of sandalwood, threatened to suffocate him with every breath of it he inhaled. The toxic fumes burned his lungs and throat as it permeated his body from the inside out._

_That woman and her body pressed flush against his… coaxing his own treacherous body into betraying him… plundering the last precious thing that had been his alone to possess… even as she whispered into his ear all the ways she wished to kill him once she was done getting what she wanted._

* * *

><p>Tim woke up with a strangled gasp, his body drenched in a cold sweat. It had been a long time since the nightmare plagued his dreams. He sat up in his bed and almost immediately regretted the movement. The massive amount of alcohol he'd ingested the night before had taken its toll. He'd told Dick several hours earlier that it was only on the tomorrows that he hated rum.<p>

It was officially tomorrow.

And Tim remembered with a pounding migraine, a massive wave of nausea, and a painful clarity, that he really, truly despised rum.

Tim gingerly laid back onto his bed, moving very little as he closed his eyes and kept a hand pressed against his mouth. Mentally, he tried to will his roiling stomach into some semblance of calm. It mostly worked. However, as soon as he wasn't distracted by the demanding desire to empty the contents of his stomach, Tim realized that something was off.

Old sleeping habits died hard in Tim, and when he first moved into his home in New York, he had his windows adorned with light-blocking drapes. So when the door was closed and the curtains drawn, the entire room was comfortably pitch dark. However, that was not the case.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and a sliver of light was cutting through the darkness, weakly illuminating the room. Only then did he notice that he wasn't alone.

Glancing around the room, Tim managed to zero in on the one small shape near the foot of his bed that he knew didn't belong there. Up until that point, the figure had been trying to creep slowly and quietly back toward the door, but froze when it was spotted. He squinted his eyes slightly, inwardly cursing his failing eyesight. He could tell someone was there, but he couldn't see who they were. Without moving his gaze from his target, Tim reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his glasses. Once he slipped them on, though, and got a good look at the intruder in his bedroom, he was the one who was frozen in place.

It was a girl.

She looked no older than six or seven, with straight black hair that ended just below her shoulders and wispy bangs that skimmed her delicate eyebrows. And her eyes… Even in the weak light, Tim could see that her that her wide, startled eyes were the same shade of blue he saw in the mirror every day.

From the hallway beyond the barely open door, Tim could hear Donna's worried voice calling from the stairwell.

"Nessa? Vanessa, where are you?"

The little girl whipped her head around at the sound of the Amazon's voice with a slightly guilty expression. Without even thinking, she moved around the corner of Tim's bed and ducked down to hide. All the while, the startled man who was still occupying the bed continued to watch her in stunned silence.

As Tim watched the child, the bedroom door hesitantly opened several more inches. Additional daylight from the hallway spilled into the room.

"Nessa?" Donna whispered softly. "Are you in here?" Her voice reached into his room from the other side of the door. Her voice caught Tim's attention, though he couldn't drag his eyes away from the sight of the girl.

"Donna?" Tim murmured back thickly, his mouth still feeling like it had been lined with cotton.

"Oh? You're awake, Tim?" The dark haired Amazon peered in cautiously. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

Tim shook his head, noting with a slightly raised eyebrow her appearance. Clearly, Donna had just woken up herself and hadn't even had a chance to look in a mirror yet. Her long black hair was suffering from a horrible case of bedhead, and she was still dressed in her sleepwear, which consisted of a red tank top and white drawstring pants. "No. I was already up."

Donna bit her bottom lip uneasily as she glanced around the dark room, her eyes not yet adjusted to the relative lack of light compared to the hallway she was still mostly standing in. "Just wondering, but you haven't seen a small girl around here, have you?"

Just as uneasily, Tim turned his head. Donna followed his gaze. Under the new source of visual focus, the young child shrank behind Tim's bed so that only her eyes and the very top of her head were visible from the doorway. Donna's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing as she took on a more stern maternal visage. She stepped a little further into the room, straightened her spine, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Vanessa Renee Troy. Get your little tail out here this instant!" she hissed in a commanding motherly whisper that broached absolutely no argument.

Quite reluctantly, with all the outward guilt of a kid who'd gotten her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, the little girl stood up and slowly walked toward her mother. Her eyes were downcast for most of the journey across the bedroom, but a voice from the bed attracted her gaze.

"Her name… is Vanessa?"

Donna nodded slightly, her face pensive. "Yes. Most of the time it's Ness or Nessa for short." She reached out for the child, who was now staring at Tim curiously, and touched her shoulder. "C'mon now, Ness. Let's go downstairs. Let Tim have some privacy." Then, as she gently herded the girl, Donna glanced back into the room. "I'm really sorry about her slipping in like that. We'll talk later, ok?"

Once the door was closed, and his bedroom was wrapped in perfect pitch darkness once more, Tim swallowed hard. A lump had risen uncomfortably into his throat.

"Vanessa," he said, wrapping his tongue around the name experimentally. "Her name is Vanessa."

* * *

><p>As her daughter explored the fenced in backyard in the early afternoon air, Donna watched from the window over the kitchen sink. She'd made herself a cup of coffee and stirred it absent-mindedly as she leaned against the counter. Though she made certain to keep one eye on Vanessa, who was carefully studying a large oak tree that sat in the middle of the yard, Donna was otherwise lost deeply in thought about the night before.<p>

* * *

><p>"He can't touch any woman?" Donna stared at Dick in bewilderment.<p>

Her best friend nodded. "That's right," he said as he poured the remaining bottle of rum down the drain. It had been about thirty minutes since Dick had helped Tim to bed. Once he'd returned downstairs, he made two cups of coffee and began to explain his younger brother's violent reaction earlier on the stairs. With a sigh, once the bottle was empty, he looked back at Donna.

"At first we thought that the aversion to female touch was because…" Dick's expression grew pained. "…because of the rape. He'd just react so violently whenever it appeared that he was about to be touched. Most of us thought that it was just PTSD. So did he in the beginning."

"What made you realize it was something different?"

"Up until a month before we found Nessa, Tim was still avoiding being touched by practically everyone. His depression had gotten pretty bad at that point, so he went to see Leslie Thompkins to get medication for it. During their visit, she tried to hold his hand to comfort him." Dick shook his head. "He said later that her touch felt like fire, and the pain was excruciating. It actually left a mark that looked a lot like a chemical burn and took over two weeks to heal."

Donna stared at Dick. "A woman's touch actually burns him?" she asked in disbelief.

"For some reason, yes," Dick explained. "Leslie thinks that it has something to do with the powers of the woman who raped him, and how she tried to kill him. Simply put, whatever she did has made him violently allergic to female human touch."

"And there's no cure?"

Dick shook his head.

"But what about Ness? He was able to hold her just fine when she was a baby."

Dick shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe it's because she's his biological daughter? Maybe it's because of her biological mother and what she did to Tim? Back then, with the way things were going, there just wasn't time to look deeper into it." He sighed and stared deeply into his coffee. "If it had anything to do with that woman or his daughter, Tim just didn't want to be involved anymore."

* * *

><p>The sound of the doorbell caught Donna's attention. She gave a glance out the window at her daughter and was debating on answering the door herself when she heard quick footsteps coming down the stairs.<p>

"I've got it," Dick said as he tugged on his t-shirt while walking to the foyer. From the kitchen, Donna heard the front door open, and there was the muffled sound of warm greetings. Then a familiar comforting face appeared in the doorway.

"Alfred."

The kindly old man smiled at Donna as he set his suitcase down by the stairs and fully entered the kitchen. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Troy. It's been far too long." Alfred reached over to shake her hand, but was instead greeted with a hug.

"What are you doing here, Alfred?" She asked with a smile.

"I called him after you went to bed last night," Dick said as he came into the kitchen himself. "Originally, the plan was for Alfred to come in on Monday and stay here for the week to help you two get settled in while Tim's at work. However, after seeing the state Tim was in last night, I called him up and we decided it'd be better if he were here with you two as soon as possible."

"Sorry you had to change your plans because of me."

Dick, Donna, and Alfred turned their heads to see Tim. He was showered and dressed, though his hair was still damp. The bloodshot gaze behind his glasses softened as Alfred walked up to him. "Good morning, Grandfather."

Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out a small medicine bottle. "I believe you mean 'Good afternoon,' Timothy. Last I checked, it was nearly 1pm." He pressed the bottle into the younger man's hand.

Tim looked at bottle, read the label, and grimaced.

"Drink it," Alfred ordered firmly.

"What is it?" Donna asked curiously.

"Hangover remedy," Dick explained, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched his brother sigh before twisting the cap off the bottle and raising it to his lips. "Alfred's special blend. It works, but it tastes absolutely vile."

"Medicine should never taste good," Alfred said as he watched Tim drain the bottle with a wry expression. "Especially for hangovers."

* * *

><p>Sitting on one of the lower limbs of the tall oak tree in the back yard, Vanessa Troy watched the gathering of adults inside the house through the windows. Of all of them, the one she was most curious about was the one her mother had called "Tim."<p>

She'd never seen eyes as sad as his before, and yet they were so hauntingly familiar.

Though she knew that he was just a normal mortal man, not at all like the strong Amazon women she'd grown up with for nearly her entire life, there was something about him that made her feel safe for the first time since she'd left Themyscira.

Ness sighed and leaned against the trunk of the tree as she fiddled with the silver charm bracelet she wore on her wrist. She was so tired of constantly moving. She really hoped that they'd finally come to a place where they could truly be safe.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I've finally gotten around to finishing this chapter to a point where I am comfortable posting it. It took a long while to finish this piece because it does reintroduce Tim to his daughter, who he hasn't seen since she was a baby._

_Within this chapter, it is also revealed that Tim's issues with women go far, far deeper than mere fear or psychosis. It also hints at another potential reason as to why he gave up the cape and cowl in the first place._


End file.
